


At the End of My Despair (I Found You)

by emberanne



Series: In Spite of the Way That It Is [2]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen, Kang Yeosang-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26519122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emberanne/pseuds/emberanne
Summary: Yeosang is the kid with so much potential. The kid with the power that's never been seen; the kid trained harder, pushed further, than the others; the kid with the world in front of him.He just wants to be a kid sometimes.He just wants to have fun on his sixteenth birthday.Is that too much to ask for?-or, the story of how yeosang and mingi meet
Relationships: Kang Yeosang & Song Mingi
Series: In Spite of the Way That It Is [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927066
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	At the End of My Despair (I Found You)

**Author's Note:**

> cw // hopelessness, implied depression, implied suicidal thought  
> (pls be safe while reading <3)
> 
> title from Magic Shop by BTS
> 
> this is an aside, spin-off, one-shot, prequel, whatever you want to call it, of [The World We Dream About (And the One We Live In Now)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25237525/chapters/61176847). while reading that first is by no means required, it is recommended.

Yeosang is pretty sure his sixteenth birthday isn't supposed to be like this. 

Admittedly, he's never turned sixteen before and he only has his sister, his noona, to pull experience from, but he's pretty sure it's not supposed to be like this. At the very least, this isn't how it is in the movies. 

Sixteenth birthdays, he thinks, are supposed to be fun. You're supposed to laugh with your friends at school (as he has the misfortune of having a birthday on a school day) while they tease you about how freaking old you are, all playful shoulder bumps and easy smiles. You're supposed to skip all your responsibilities, go and do something stupid like head for the skate park or hit up a convenience store and buy all the junk food you want. You're supposed to come home to a nice dinner with your family, a meal they make especially for you because it's your day, the warmth of June melting through the room and your mother petting your head fondly as she wishes you happy birthday. Maybe you sneak out of the house long after you're allowed to and meet up with your friends, sneak a drink of something you're too young to drink, watch the sky light up with stars and enjoy that singular moment of turning sixteen. 

That's what sixteenth birthdays are supposed to be like. 

What he gets instead is this: 

A migraine the size of the Arctic. A room full of computer monitors, hard drives, operating systems. A teacher standing outside the room, watching him through the one-way mirror, monitoring his every move. A thousand million data files to sort through to find one specific file, a needle amongst other needles. 

No friends, no special meal, no fun. 

Just him in the middle of this room, fingers brushing against the technology because he has to, overwhelmed with the information flowing through his mind trying to pound its way out of his head. 

"You can leave when you find it." 

That's what the Academy told him. 

He can leave when he finds one data file among millions. He can leave when he passes this exam. He can leave and try to enjoy what's left of his birthday when he's done what's been asked of him. 

He's been here for seven hours. 

And Yeosang would love to say that this is an especially hard task, that he's never had to do anything like this before, but that would be a lie. He's done this half a dozen times and he hasn't even been at the Academy for a full semester. 

The first time took him thirteen hours. The second ten. The third eleven. The fourth eight. The fifth six. And now this, the sixth time, already well past the seven-hour mark. 

Yeosang knows that the Academy pushes him harder than they push the others. That the tests they put him through are more typical for those at the end of their second year rather than the middle of their first. He knows it's because his power has never been seen before, it's completely new and unique and full of so much potential. 

Potential. 

Yeosang has a love-hate relationship with the word potential. 

When his power manifested, his parents worried he would be an empath. Because all he was able to describe it as was this hum, almost always ever-present, the song of cicadas in a humid afternoon. It wasn't till they figured out he only heard the hum around technology that they realized Yeosang was something different. And then he learned it wasn't normal for data and information to stream into his head whenever he touched advanced technology and when (lying on the floor, crying out in pain because there is _so much_ , _too much_ in his head, his mother fluttering to reach for his hand) they learn he can transmit the data in his head with a single touch, they knew his power was entirely new. 

"The ability to absorb any form of digital data and transmit it, even to humans, with a single touch," his father said, awe clear in his voice. "Oh Yeosang-ah, you have so much potential." 

(And Yeosang doesn't register that word for some time because all he can think of is the terrifying scream his mother let out when she took on the information, because she wasn't prepared for it and Yeosang had emptied almost an entire hard drive into her head. Yes, she recovered, and yes, she never blamed Yeosang, but Yeosang would never forget the sound his potential brought out in that terrible cry.)

After that, his potential followed him everywhere. 

"You have so much potential," his friends tell him and he smiles shyly. 

"You have so much potential," the census worker says as she hands him his rank as high-tier and he feels a small surge of pride. 

"You have so much potential," his first trainer reminds him and he's encouraged to work harder. 

"You have so much potential," the Academy states and he nods dutifully. 

Potential. 

On the one hand, he's grateful for his potential. His potential has opened a lot of doors that are hard to find, his potential has earned him respect from those far older and more experienced than him. His potential is something he takes pride in, because he's proud of how powerful he will become. 

On the other hand, he resents his potential with a burning passion. His potential is why he didn't have a normal childhood after his power manifested, his potential alienates him from peers who whisper about him in awe, his potential has landed him in an Academy training room for over seven hours on his sixteenth birthday. His potential controls his life, controls how the people in his life treat him, and he's so, so tired of being the kid with so much potential. 

He just wants to be a kid sometime. 

Is that too much to ask for? 

Nothing else, just a kid. He'll put up with the power, the potential, the Academy, everything, if he could just be young for a few stolen moments. If he could just take one day, one moment, to celebrate his sixteenth birthday. 

Sixteenth birthdays are supposed to be fun. 

Instead, 

"This is the eight-hour mark," the teacher's disappointment echoes through the speaker. 

Yeosang doesn't falter in his movements, keeps his eyes shut as his fingers fidget in the air, takes the information the teacher's voice has presented to him and files it away in the rest of his data bank. There's still so much to sort through. 

His eyes move beneath his eyelids, in his mind, he can still see too many screens. They surround him, they encompass him, they put him in the eye of the storm and his regular commands aren't working. Maybe it's the migraine. Maybe it's the size of the storm. 

(Maybe he's still flooded with the disappointment of today, of every day, and he can't focus like he usually does.)

His mind moves a mile a millisecond, he flicks through data files with some semblance of his usual proficiency. He streams the useless files into the flash drive he holds in one hand, instinctually tossing the flash drive away when it's full and picking up a new one from the pile at his feet. He sorts and sorts, catalogs and categorizes, searches for the file, and stews in the dull thud of his heart. 

He finishes at the nine-hour mark, transmits the file to the Academy teacher who steps in when he says he's done. The teacher purses his lips, clearly displeased with how long Yeosang took, and gives Yeosang a lecture on his performance. 

"We'll have another exercise for you tomorrow," the teacher promises. "Something to help you with sorting and cataloging at a faster rate." 

"Of course," Yeosang says, drowning in disillusionment. "I will do better next time." 

"Very well," the teacher says, turning to exit the room. He turns back, something probably thought of as comfort on his mind, and says, "You have so much potential, Yeosang-ssi." 

Yeosang stares at the door as it swings closed and realizes he's lost the will to scream. 

This is his life. This is what he is going to do for the rest of his life. His life will be a story of his potential, of constant tests and never doing as well as they hope, of expectant parents who are so proud of what he could become, of friends he can try to sneak a moment of happiness with only for it always to be ripped away, to always return to this. 

He used to be angry. He used to be frustrated. He used to want more, dream more. He used to long for life to change. 

He has so much potential. 

He doesn't even feel anything anymore. He doesn't even hope for anything. He just, he is. 

He just-

He-

He wants the world to stop. He wants to stop. 

Is that too much to ask for? 

Just stop, just for one day. One hour. One minute. One second. A moment. A lifetime. Just stop. Stop and breathe, stop and sleep, stop and turn sixteen, stop and stop existing entirely. 

Maybe it's...

It's nothing. 

He finds his way out of the Academy in a haze, tripping over his own feet as he moves forward against a strong summer wind. He doesn't have the will to touch his phone or turn it on, he doesn't think he can take just one more line of information in his head. Because his head is full, so full, not with data but with thoughts and the roar of his emptiness and his tiredness. 

It's long past the hour his family eats dinner and he knows better than to think they'll have waited to eat with him, they've grown used to eating without him. It's late enough in the evening that he knows his friends are still up, probably at home with their families or pushing themselves through their own training, but he doesn't have the will to try to pull them to him. 

He didn't tell them it was his birthday anyways. It was unintentional, he had really just forgotten to mention the fact, but maybe it was purposeful in a subconscious way. 

Who cares if it's his birthday, it's just another day of being the kid with so much potential. 

His sneakers scuff against the sidewalk as he pulls himself along by nothing. No will power, no exhaustion, nothing. Just existence, just the wind. He walks to nowhere, lets his feet carry him wherever they will, and finds himself near the river. 

He's so different from the scene he's walking past, some early summer night market with stalls of steaming food and bright lights and the happy laughter of those not drowning in their own potential. 

He just-

He wants...

"Happy birthday to me," he sings numbly. 

He follows where his feet lead him, away from everything. 

"Happy birthday to me." 

Away from the lights and the laughter, away from the Academy and their instructors, away from his friends and his family. 

"Our love Yeosang-ah." 

What he would give to just stop existing for a moment, to be a nameless person on the pedestrian bridge stretching over the river with the wind whipping around him, warm with the early night and wet with the promise of an oncoming summer storm. 

"Happy birthday to me." 

He teeters slightly, all awareness of the world around him lost. He stares from the bridge out over the water. 

He just wants to be more than his potential. 

The wind gusts as though answering him, pushes him back a few steps and straight into the person walking behind him. 

"Sorry," Yeosang mumbles, more out of instinct than anything else. 

"It's no problem," the other says. Yeosang doesn't bother to turn to look. "Strong wind and all." 

Yeosang nods in agreement, staring out at the water. What would it be like to not have this potential? What would it be like to be more than that? What would it be like to be someone else? 

What's the point in wondering? 

At the end of it all, he's still Kang Yeosang. He's still the kid with so much potential. He doesn't get to be someone else. He just has to bear with it. 

What would it be like to stop existing?

"Are you okay?" 

A hand on his shoulder. Soft, tentative. 

It's just enough to pull Yeosang back to reality, to remind himself of where and who he is. It's enough to remind him of the disappointment that is this day, that is his life, and how heartbreaking all of it is. 

The tear falls unwittingly. 

"Hey, hey," the voice says and Yeosang finally turns to look. It's the person he bumped into, he thinks, a boy that looks around his age. A boy much taller than him, with smaller eyes and a concerned frown. "Hey, I don't know what's going on, but it's gonna be okay. I'm with you." 

How can this stranger, this kid, know that? Yeosang hates how reassuring those words feel because those words are empty, those words are meaningless. Those words don't take his potential away. 

"I'm fine," Yeosang says, wiping at his eyes furiously before any more tears can fall. "Really, I'm fine. Thank you for your concern." 

"You don't look fine," the taller says, looking torn but also firm. A juxtaposition of feelings. "You don't sound fine either." 

A pause and Yeosang tries to collect himself, tries to stop the next tear from falling, tries to be strong. But he just-

He can't. 

"Maybe you should sit down," the other says and Yeosang finds himself wordlessly nodding, letting the other's hesitant touch guide Yeosang onto the filthy pavement with a whisper of a comforting touch. 

So Yeosang sits on the ground, on the concrete slab of the pedestrian bridge, with a total stranger and feels tears trace his cheeks. He chokes on the air in his lungs and cries because he's sad, he's disappointed. Because he wants to be happy and carefree, he wants to look as young and full of life as the stranger in front of him, he wants to see his friends and go to the skatepark and play video games and draw his favorite doodles and eat fried chicken. 

He wants to have a fun sixteenth birthday. 

Is that too much to ask for? 

The stranger sits beside him all the while, doesn't ask any questions but offers soft whispers of comfort. Small encouragements. And they're meaningless, they're trivial, but Yeosang takes them anyways because it has been so long since he's been offered anything that was actually comforting. Yeosang takes them because maybe the stranger believes in them and the thought fills him with something he can't identify. 

"I'm sorry," Yeosang says when the tears have stopped. He dries his face with a napkin the stranger has offered. "I just, today was really disappointing." 

The stranger makes a small sound of understanding. "It's okay. Disappointing days are worse than bad days, if you ask me." 

"No kidding," Yeosang says with the empty breath of a laugh. "I'm sorry to make you sit through this." 

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," the stranger shrugs. "I don't do anything I don't want to do, I wouldn't have stayed with you if I didn't want to. 

"Besides," the stranger gives Yeosang a small smile. It's tentative and soft, almost childlike and Yeosang feels pure warmth from it. "It seems like you need a friend right now." 

It puts a knot in Yeosang's heart. 

"Yeah," he says instead. "I guess I did." 

He looks at the stranger properly, takes in the awkwardly hunched shoulders, and the way he seems to drown in his clothing. He's nobody powerful, he's probably nobody at all compared to Yeosang in his Academy uniform, and Yeosang has never wanted to make a friend more.

"I'm Kang Yeosang." 

"Song Mingi," he offers. "It's nice to meet you, Kang Yeosang-ssi."

"It's nice to meet you, Song Mingi-ssi," Yeosang says and realizes that, for the first time in a while, he means it. "Thank you for helping me and being my friend for a moment." 

"Of course," Mingi says with that same small smile. Hesitantly, he asks, "Do you want to talk about it? I totally understand if you don't! Like, I'm just this random guy you met on a bridge, but, I don't know. If you want to, I'm willing to listen." 

Yeosang can't help but laugh a little at Mingi's awkwardness and the red that violently colors Mingi's cheeks. A chuckle escapes Mingi's lips and Yeosang is still laughing at the red now spreading to Mingi's ears and soon enough both of them are laughing at everything and nothing, at everyone and no one. 

(How long has it been since he laughed like this? 

He wants to laugh like this more often. 

Is that too much to ask for?)

"I appreciate it," Yeosang says truthfully. Because this laughter has given him a bubble of something, he doesn't know what. And it's not enough to take away everything pressing into the back of his mind, into the center of his core, but it's enough to make the pain a little less present. 

"Cool," Mingi says, fingers tapping against the concrete. Really, they should get up, but Yeosang has never felt so _free_ (that's the name for it, god, it's so foreign to him) as sitting in the middle of the bridge with Mingi. 

"Today's my birthday," Yeosang says suddenly, unintentionally, instinctually. Mingi looks a little surprised and Yeosang takes the bitterness of his day and pushes it into a dry smile. "I guess I was hoping I would get to have some fun today, get to celebrate turning sixteen. But it was just like any other day at the Academy. I was really disappointed." 

"That's dumb," Mingi says with a frown. Yeosang scoffs, more than a little offended, and Mingi rushes to clarify, "I'm not saying you're dumb! Or that what you feel is dumb! Your feelings are so valid! But it's dumb that you weren't able to have fun on your sixteenth birthday. It doesn't matter that you're at the Academy of if you're training to be some top ten hero: you're a person, you deserve to be able to celebrate your birthday." 

"Oh," Yeosang breathes, thrown by the tumble of words leaving Mingi's mouth but touched. Comforted. Mollified. "Thank you, I think." 

"Yeah," Mingi nods emphatically. "Oh, wait!" And Mingi turns to rummage in a large brown paper bag that Yeosang didn't know existed. Mingi mutters to himself, searching for what he needs, and pulls out a faintly steaming wrapper that he presents to Yeosang with a wide smile. "Here! Happy Birthday, Yeosang-ssi!" 

Char siu bao. 

Mingi, a complete stranger, who found Yeosang having a breakdown at the beginning of the night in the middle of a bridge, is giving him char siu bao as a birthday gift. 

Yeosang is so touched, so softened by the thought. He accepts the char siu bao with trembling fingers and stares at it intensely as Mingi pulls out a few more wrappers, words that Yeosang only barely register about it not being much but food is food and he'll buy Yeosang fried chicken sometime if Yeosang is interested. Mingi unwraps a char siu bao of his own and looks back at Yeosang with the same wide smile that leaves Yeosang a little breathless. 

"To your birthday," Mingi says, tapping their bao together. "I hope that your sixteenth year is a great one." 

There is gratitude building in his chest and threatening to spill from his mouth, warmth spreading through his body and happy ( _happy_ ) tears building in his eyes. There is a smile tearing itself across his face because he has been given this, this feeling, this person, when he was feeling his worst. He has been given this moment where he can be Kang Yeosang sitting with Song Mingi eating bao at the beginning of the night in the middle of a bridge. 

Yeosang smiles at Mingi. "I hope so too." 

Mingi nudges Yeosang's foot with his own, gesturing at the bao in Yeosang's hands distinctly. With a soft ah, Yeosang closes his eyes and makes a wish. 

(He wishes for Mingi to stay in his life long after this moment has ended.)

(It's not too much to ask for.)

They bite into their bao together and something like friendship stretches between them. 

**Author's Note:**

> yeosang-ah, you have my whole heart, ugh. also just @ me putting all of sixteen-year-old me into yeosang. sorry sangie. 
> 
> i'd love to read your thoughts in the comments or become mutuals on [twitter](https://twitter.com/theEmberAnne). as always, thank you for reading <3


End file.
